Liberi Immortalis
by Dark Cyradis
Summary: Crossover Harry Potter & Setsuna Mudou both live haunted by the past. But when a new disaster strikes, they find themselves confronting foes & friends of old, and perhaps, a chance to free themselves from the ghosts that still haunt them.
1. Faces Familiar and New

"Liberi Immortali"  
By Dark Cyradis  
Edited: 07.18.08

* * *

Disclaimer: _Angel Sanctuary, __Harry Potter _and all their lovely characters, trademarks, etc, do not belong to me. This is just a fanwork for fun.  
Notes: This story is a continuation of the Angel Sanctuary manga and was written after the 4th Harry Potter book was published, so it does not take into account the events of books 5-7 (consider it a bit of an AU). Spoilers for the entire AS manga and HP books 1-4.

* * *

Chapter I: Faces Familiar and New

Lord Voldemort paced up and down the dank, dimly-lit subway tunnel. His impatience almost betrayed a hint of nervousness that Wormtail found distressingly uncharacteristic of his master. Not that Wormtail, himself, was feeling very calm about it, either. His knocking knees and chattering teeth certainly didn't seem calm. But for once, Wormtail's blubbering seemed justified. After all, this was the first time he, or any wizard for that matter, had ever dealt with a power totally out of their reach, a power so high that Lord Voldemort hoped to achieve omnipotence unlike any wizard before him by conquering it. _Divine _power.

"What's taking so long?" Voldemort's raspy voice broke the heavy, sour-tasting silence in the tunnel.

"Maybe the clocks in Heaven are a little late," Wormtail ventured, giving a weak chuckle. A sharp, annoyed glance from his master quickly silenced him. Wormtail went back to contemplating the drop of sweat precariously balanced on the tip of his nose. _Oooh, I don't want to do this, _he thought, squirming, _I really, really don't want to be here…!_

But his master had commanded him to come. And so he came, and stood huddled against the slimey stone wall, praying that he would make it safely back to his warm, cozy bed tonight. Ah, beddy-bye… how nice it would be to-

"_Silence!" _Voldemort hissed sharply. His eyes darted around the cave. Wormtail looked about wildly too. Finally, he saw what it was his master was staring so hard at. A sort of hazy, luminescent vortex was slowly twisting the air in the middle of the tunnel. An extremely high ringing sound accompanied the light, but it was such a sweet, enchanting sound that neither wizard flinched. The very air around them became alive with energy.

"He's coming," Voldemort breathed.

The luminescence of the vortex grew brighter, and began to take shape. The light grew even more intense, and the spiraling wind grew stronger, so that Wormtail had to lift his hands to his eyes to shield them from the blinding brilliance and the bits of debris whipping around. With a flash, the silhouette of light solidified into the figure of the most beautiful person Wormtail had ever seen. An almost too-perfect face, featuring a pair of thickly-lashed, enchanting blue eyes and a perfectly-shaped rosebud of a mouth, regarded the two of them demurely. Long, flowing silvery hair swirled around the slender figure, garbed in a strikingly discordant, Gothic-looking black waistcoat and slacks. But most striking of all were the large, graceful wings that settled delicately around the figure as it hovered in mid-air.

Lord Voldemort deigned to let a glimmer of respect enter his lifeless voice. "The 'Inorganic Angel,' Rociel."

Rociel turned his snowy head slightly and smiled almost benignly at him. "Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord of Wizardry. How nice to meet you."

Voldemort nodded briskly. "Thank you for coming. Now, shall we discuss the exchange?"

Rociel gave a ringing laugh, and turned a measuring smile upon the dark-robed man. "Right to business, I see. You humans are so cute."

Rather than being annoyed, Voldemort actually seemed to return some semblance of a sporting smile. "Well, most of us humans don't live long enough to enjoy every moment to the fullest." Smile fading, he continued, "Which, coincidentally, is the purpose of our meeting today."

Rociel smiled tolerantly. "Yes, of course. The inevitable request of all mortals." He took a few playfully mincing steps, and spun back around with an almost coy smile on his face. "Immortality."

Voldemort nodded. "You told me there was a way to achieve complete immortality—to live at the full height of my powers forever."

"Oh, yes," Rociel said breezily, with a little nod. "It's quite plausible for certain angels."

"Then," Voldemort said, the greedy excitement barely contained in his voice, "do it now. Give me that power and immortality now!"

Rociel stopped him with a quick shake of his head. "I said, for _certain _angels, it can be done. Unfortunately, the only kind of immortality _I _could give you would be the life of an inorganic puppet. Of course, you would be endowed with power beyond your imagining—_my _powers. But you would be my slave as well."

"But you said—"

"However," Rociel silenced him again. "Even if I, myself, cannot give you this power, I certainly can show you to who can."

"Really." Voldemort seemed game again. "How, then? Who must I seek?"

"First," Rociel cut him off. "May I ask you _why _you wish omnipotence and immortality?"

Voldemort seemed rather taken aback. "Because," he said simply, "that is what any mortal who wishes glory needs."

Rociel shrugged, seeming to disregard the answer. "Then, I suppose, I shall have to find out why on my own, if you won't tell me." Voldemort frowned.

Wormtail watched the impressive exchange of what must have been the supreme powers of their respective worlds, and squirmed again. Even though the sight of Rociel was breath-taking enough even for him to admire, he still felt miserably out of place. At that moment, as though sensing his thoughts, Rociel turned the full force of his beautiful smile on him.

"Your servant?" he asked, his voice a lovely, ringing tenor that seemed to ripple across the empty space.

Voldemort also turned to look at his minion, although he was not smiling at all. "Yes," he said briskly, "unfortunately so."

"Ohhh." Rociel made a pitying sound and advanced towards the cowering Wormtail. _Please let him go away, _thought Wormtail, who was generally afraid of everything, especially something so terribly beautiful and powerful. But as he parted his hands to peek, he found himself face to face with the Inorganic Angel. Up close, his exquisite features were even more amazing—especially the mesmerizing eyes. At a distance, they looked striking but seemed to be focused elsewhere, as if too lofty to gaze upon his worldly surroundings. But now, the sharp, laser-bright eyes bore into him with an intensity that was overpowering and seductive and alluring… but subtly, also very dangerous.

The lovely creature leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on the top of the shaking wizard's head. Wormtail gasped. Warmth flowed through him, and a feeling of security that he hadn't felt for a very long time possessed him.

"There now," Rociel said, rising gracefully, platinum locks swirling as he turned to face Voldemort who had watched the exchange expressionlessly. Rociel smiled and shrugged lightly. "How important it is to remember who it is that stands beside you in the worst of times," he said cryptically.

Voldemort snorted. "Please, pay him no mind. Now, if we may continue? Who is it that can bestow omnipotence and immortality upon me?"

A somewhat sardonic expression slid onto the angel's face. "For all matters of life and vitality, you would have to seek out Raphael, the 'Healer of Heaven.' As for the sort of power you wish, the only kind that can be transferred from angels to humans is elemental power. The four angels of the elements—including Raphael, the Angel of Wind—are also four of the most powerful and stubborn angels in existence. Michael, the Angel of Fire; Uriel, the Angel of Earth; and Jibriel, the Angel of Water. To begin with, it is nearly impossible to get their attention for matters that do not directly affect them—but then, they will also be disinclined to help someone whose motives are questionable. However," Rociel smiled slyly, "I have a fool-proof way of getting their cooperation…"

Voldemort nodded. "Yes, tell me; I shall do as you suggest."

"Good." Rociel tossed a roll of parchment at Voldemort as he began to walk away. "Arrange to be at that place at that time, and make the preparations I suggested on that sheet. Everything should be fine."

Voldemort stared at the parchment in his hands and nodded. "And," he called after the retreating figure. "What, exactly, did you want in exchange for all of this?"

Rociel paused a moment and half turned to give the wizards a quick glance. "You shall know my wish later," he said nonchalantly. "But… for now, I wish for you to reconsider your answer to me. Immortality and omnipotence aren't all they're cracked up to be…" With that, the Inorganic Angel vanished into the shadows.

* * *

Harry Potter stared into the fire crackling before him. Even seated in a plush armchair in the cozy Gryffindor common room, he sat hunched over, swathed in blankets. The room was full of the energy of excited teenagers, but Harry sat alone, for once unnoticed. The slightest hint of a frown creased his pale brow as he continued to contemplate the fire.

"Hello? Earth to Harry!" Ron Weasley waved a hand in front of Harry's face. "You still with us, Harry?"

"Huh?" Harry started and looked up into the grinning, freckled face of his best friend. Behind him, their other best friend, Hermione Granger, was approaching, precariously balancing a towering stack of fat books.

"Here you are, Harry," she said, setting the teetering stack down beside his chair. "Plenty of books to keep you entertained while we're away."

"Instead of seeing Paris, I get to read about the magical misadventures of Bright-Eye the Cyclops," Harry said glumly. Ron and Hermione exchanged a grimace.

"Aw, c'mon, Harry!" Ron said, trying to cheer him up. "Who really wants to go to France, anyway? I mean, what do they have there? Like, maybe a couple old museums, a tower, croissants, maybe a few hot French girls… er, heh heh…"

Hermione glowered at Ron's reddening face. "Oh, you're no help!" she snorted. Turning to her other friend, she said, "All right, look Harry. Yes, this is a very exciting trip, but it won't be the last we go on! And, after all, it isn't the _whole _school—just the sixth years."

"Yeah!" Ron chimed in. "You'll still have Ginny and Colin and all of them lot to keep you company." As Harry groaned again at the thought of his unofficial fan club, Ron quickly changed the subject.

"Hermione's right, Harry! This won't be the last school trip we take. And think of it this way--wouldn't your rather visit Durmstrang in Bulgaria than Beauxbatons in France? We could see Viktor again!"

At the thought of seeing his fellow Quidditch player and friend, Harry cheered a little. "Too bad that's a whole year away," he said. Not wanting to dampen his friends' moods too much before their trip, he put on a smile. "But I can wait. Maybe I can catch up on my homework for once."

Hermione was very taken with the idea. "Oh, Harry, what a good idea! You can even borrow my notes if you want. Now you'll have lots of time to study since Quidditch practices have been suspended for these two weeks."

"Yeah, that's right," Harry said, fighting to keep the smile in place on his face. "Well, you guys had better go pack. You're all portkeying out in the morning, right?"

Agreeing with him, Ron and Hermione excused themselves, waving good night after them. Harry watched with a heavy heart as his best friends prepared for the trip of a lifetime. Without him.

_This is so unfair, _he thought, leaning his head tiredly against the cushy back of the chair and letting out a long sigh. The Dursleys, in their usual pursuit of Harry's misery, had of course refused to sign the permission slip for him to take the sixth years' trip to France this fall. Worse yet, because of the strange weather patterns that had begun around July of that year, Harry had spent one too many Quidditch practices in the rain, which resulted in a protracted case of the flu that Sirius had deemed unfit for him to travel with. And so…

"Good-bye, France…" Harry sighed. _For once, I'm the one who won't be doing the exciting thing… _

* * *

"Father, I can't _believe _this! You _can't _be serious!"

Draco Malfoy stared up in undisguised disbelief as his father slung his black traveling cloak back around his broad shoulders and turned to the door.

"I warned you, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said, glancing over his shoulder at his crestfallen son. "A Malfoy should _never _be getting grades like yours. I don't care if the entire _school_ is Muggle-loving, _you cannot excuse these grades!" _He threw the door open with a slam that made Draco jump. "I have already informed Professor Snape that you are withdrawing from this class trip. If, Draco—and only _if _your grades pick up by the end of this term—I will take you to France this summer. Understood?"

"But Father—"

"_Understood?" _

Draco closed his mouth and stepped back. "Understood," he muttered in dejection.

"Good. I will see you at Christmas, then." With that, Lucius disappeared out the doorway, closing the door firmly behind him.

"I can't _believe _this," Draco said again, collapsing into a chair behind him. He glanced around Professor Snape's empty office. When he'd been called into the Head of Slytherin's office that day, the last thing he'd expected to see was his father, fuming silently, ominously holding his midterm report card. _What beastly luck_, he thought with a sigh. If report cards had gone home just one week later, he would safely be tucked away in some exciting quarter of Paris. But _no, _luck had been against him and he, _Draco Malfoy_ of all people, would be missing the sixth years' trip! Draco could almost feel the floating eyeballs and other disgusting globs in the jars behind Snape's desk staring at him mirthfully.

Draco buried his face in his hands as the reality of his exclusion from everyone else sank in. It was a terrible thought, that. But he knew that no amount of wheedling could change his father's mind when he used _that _tone. And he knew that begging his teachers wouldn't convince them to go against his father's powerful influence—the same influence that he would normally boast about. Oh, how the tables had turned. He could just picture the triumphant looks on the faces of Potter, Weasley, and Granger as they departed for a trip he was barred from. It was unbearable.

"I'm not going to France," he moaned into his hands. "This time, I'm going to be the one left behind!"

* * *

A peculiar scent lit on an autumn breeze that gently rippled a stretch of soft grass and played through the golden-brown hair of the boy that lay in it. Sixteen-year-old Setsuna Mudou started out of the light doze he had been in. He sat up, blinking, and glanced around him.

"What was that just now?" he muttered. A familiar feeling had washed over him for a moment. A familiar feeling… or presence. He shivered involuntarily and darted a glance over his shoulder. However, nothing amiss was in sight. The sunny day continued with its wholesome bustling. Setsuna sighed and stood up, deciding to head back to his classroom to wait for lunch period to finish. Whatever had woken him up, it wasn't something he wanted to meet again—that much he knew.

_Maybe I'm going crazy, _he thought. _I'm totally paranoid, even though its been months since all that. _He briefly let his mind flit over the incredible events that had shaken the entire world without its knowledge this past summer. Faces of friends he had made, and friends he had lost seem to flash before his eyes.

"Oh, stop it!" he hissed to himself, shaking his head to clear it. But they were there, the ghosts that hadn't stopped haunting him since that time. No matter how much time he tried to buy thinking about other things at hand, those phantom images always managed to find him time and again. Kira-senpai, with his katana buried to the hilt into his chest; Katou, gasping for breath in Lucifer's arms, blood spurting from the huge wound in his middle—

"Setsuna!"

That effectively snapped Setsuna out of it. It was the one thing that always could. Sara.

"Setsuna, didn't you hear me?" Sara's large brown eyes were full of curiosity as she looked at him, her head cutely cocked to one side. She was standing right at his shoulder, and he hadn't realized it.

"Oh, Sara," he said, focusing on her lovely smile. He suddenly felt the need to smile, himself. Yes, the one thing that had most occupied him and helped him return to the routines of normal life was Sara. Living the blissful life of a happy couple was the one positive change to his life.

"I'm sorry I didn't hear you," Setsuna said, smiling affectionately at his girlfriend as they began walking back towards his school. Then he frowned. "But what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at your school? Is something wrong?"

Sara looked pensive for a moment. "I… I'm not sure, Setsuna." She hesitated. "I've been feeling… _strange _since this morning."

"Strange?"

"Yes. I feel like something is brewing, like a storm."

Setsuna looked up at the cloudless sky. "But it looks pretty clear…"

"No." Sara shook her head, the sun catching the golden highlights in her long, light brown hair. "Something's coming, and it feels just like… just like _back then." _

Setsuna stared hard at her. It was just too much of a coincidence—what Sara was saying now, and the presence that he had felt a few moments ago.

"No way," he breathed, staring up at the horizon. He could now make out a few dark smudges in the western sky. "It can't be happening again."

"No, Setsuna," Sara said, turning to stare at the horizon as well. "_This_ storm is brewing from the west."

"But I can feel it," Setsuna growled. Suddenly, everything fell into place. "He's back. Rociel's back."

* * *

-- End of Chapter 1--

Well, what do you think? Since people don't seem to be interested in reading my monologues, I'm trying out the adventure genre. And as an attempt to get more people interested in the most amazing manga series ever, _Angel Sanctuary, _I've decided on a crossover. A lot of themes overlap in the two series, but immortality seemed appropriate because I want to expand on Voldie-chan too. Btw, the title was inspired by "Liberi Fatli," the title song of FF8 (not that I really liked that game, but…)

Please review! The more feedback, the more incentive I'll have to keep writing!

Edit 7/18/08 - Hey, guys--sorry for the looooong gap in the writing of this story. I had thought to abandon it (it has been a while), but after reading Chapter 1 again, I think I may resume it since I already have quite a bit of Chapter 4 written. What do you think? Is the story worth continuing? Please review and let me know! 3


	2. The Setting of the Stage

Chapter II: The Setting of the Stage

            An explosion rocked the room. 

            Raphael slowly set down the papers he had been reading and raised his head to look at the gaping hole that now adorned the north wall of his study.

            "Mika-chan, why can't you use the door like a _normal_ person?" He took off his reading glasses so that he could give the archangel Michael the full effect of his annoyed, blue-eyed glare. 

            "Don't call me Mika-chan. And what the HELL do ya think you're DOING?" Michael boomed in his typical "indoor" voice. "Shouldn't you be in BED? That ARM of yours is going to STAY broken if you're freakin' bumbling around in HERE! Not to mention you still bloody don't have half yer BLOODCELLS back. Ya wanna FAINT or something?"

            Raphael half smirked and ran a long-fingered hand through his silky blonde hair. "But the ladies just love a handsome man with war injuries."

            "WAR injuries my ASS," Michael snorted, stalking over and boosting himself right smack onto Raphael's desk, scattering his papers in the process. "You didn't do ANYTHING in the war! While the REST of us were out fighting ROCIEL and every other CRAZY thing in Heaven and Hell, you just got yourself into a COMA going after that crazy Sara girl, you LECH."

            "Mika-chan, Sara was _not _crazy; just possessed."

            Michael rolled his eyes. "Oh, big, freakin' DIFFERENCE."

            "And I am not a lech," Raphael added in lofty tones. "Just a very romantic, misunderstood guy with so much love to give to the beauties of this world."

            "Allow me to PUKE," Michael said cynically. 

            "Just not on my Versace sweater, thanks."

            "WHY am I friends with you?" Michael glared.

            The same question had echoed many a-time through the minds of most everyone who had ever met the two. Completely opposite in temperament, sensibilities, and even height, it seemed a wonder that the two archangels could stand each other, much less _enjoy _being in one another's company. However, the fact remained that the tall, suave blonde and his childish but dangerous-looking, red-haired counterpart were always to be found together. 

            "Good question, Mika-chan," Raphael said in response to the unanswerable question. He had already recollected his papers and was readjusting his stylish Ralph Lauren-framed lenses back onto the bridge of his nose. "After all, I'm not a bloodthirsty, bazooka-toting, syngenesophobic, high-strung, monomaniacal pyromaniac like you."

            Michael stared at him for a full minute. Finally, "Don't call me high-strung!" He gripped his head. "Gaaah! You TALK too much!"

            "I know you're _really _getting upset when you start repeating yourself." Raphael patted his friend's head. "There, there, Mika-chan. Now let me get back to my work."

            "Yeah, what AREyou doing anyway?" Michael asked, peering over Raphael's shoulder at the official-looking document he was holding. "And don't call me Mika-chan."

            "Surely Raziel's contacted you about stationing ourselves permanently in the Upper Court in Briah? He wants us to head our branches of government."

            "Oh, HELL," Michael snorted, giving an impatient wave of his hand. "Sevotharte, Rociel, Raziel—I really don't care WHO'S asking. If they want ME to do something, they can start a WAR."

            "Mika-chan, we just _had _one."

            "But it's been MONTHS!" Michael wailed. "We need to DO something or I'll go NUTS."

            "In that case," Raphael began, digging through a desk drawer to retrieve a colorful flyer. "How about reinstating the archangels' annual resort trip? This sounds like a _lovely_ place." He waved the flyer—depicting a beautiful white sand beach and half a dozen buxom women in bikinis—in Michael's face. 

            "Hey, that's a GOOD idea!" Michael said, eager to have something to do. "The DEMONS are all hiding down in the friggin' lowest PITS of Hell, so the hunting's no good." He jumped to his feet, already halfway to the crumbling wall that he'd entered from. "I'll go get that somber-faced URIEL—"

            "I've already contacted him," Raphael interrupted. "He doesn't want to leave his work, since he's now reclaiming his position as Judge of Heaven. And Sara's too busy with the Messiah to come, so it'll just be the two of us."

            "Hey, how come you didn't bother to ask ME?" Michael grumbled. 

            "Somehow I just _knew _you would come, Mika-chan," Raphael said loftily.

            "Stop calling me Mika-chan!"

*****

            Ron rolled over and stared up at the long, heavy curtains surrounding his four-poster bed. It was probably past midnight already. He knew he should get to sleep to reserve his energy for the trip the next day, but something nagged at the back of his mind and kept him wakeful. He shifted slightly in order to tilt his ear towards Harry's bed, beside his own, but he didn't hear a sound. Even Neville's usually heavy snores were muffled tonight. The stillness unsettled him.

            He knew why it did. It reminded him too much of _that_ night long ago, when the entire world seemed to turn upside-down for him. The night that Lord Voldemort had decided to _attack. _

            It had happened during the winter of their fifth year. Everyone knew something was going to happen. The Ministry of Magic kept reassuring everyone that the situation was under control, that Voldemort _wasn't _back and fully restored of his magic. But everyone at Hogwarts knew better. Professor Dumbledore's speech at the End-of-the-Year banquet the previous year left them all without doubt that a storm was brewing and that it would soon break. And so it did. It broke directly on Harry Potter.

            Ron closed his eyes and allowed the images to come flashing through his mind. It was during Quidditch season… perhaps a few weeks after Halloween when Harry began feeling faint for no apparent reason. He tried to hide it, of course, afraid that he would be ordered off the Gryffindor Quidditch team during the peak of the season, but Ron and Hermione saw it, saw it very clearly in every word he spoke, every step he took, every morsel of food that was left uneaten on his plate. Whenever they questioned him, he would just mumble something about his head hurting. Ron wanted to kick himself. He had never connected those head pains to Harry's scar, and what it might mean if the scar was hurting everyday. 

            On the evening of the Attack, Harry had looked more ill than usual, now that Ron thought about it, but at the time, he had become so accustomed to Harry's listlessness that he hadn't been very concerned. That night, in the still, still midnight, when the entire Hogwarts community had been tucked away cozily in their safe beds, all Hell seemed to break loose. 

            It began when Harry screamed. Screamed with such gut-wrenching force that Ron had snapped awake and leaped out of bed in half a second, and was running for Harry's bedside. But before he got there, a humongous burst of brilliant light had exploded from Harry, knocking Ron and the other boys away even as it shattered Harry's bed frame. The room was suddenly very cold and lit by an eerily flickering green glow that held Harry's limp form suspended in the air, his blank eyes staring unseeingly straight at Ron. Then, to Ron's absolute horror, those eyes began to glow with an inhuman light, and turned the normally brilliant green irises into a piercing shade of deep red. From the light of those eyes, an apparition seemed to take shape; a glowing red form grew into the solid-looking figure of a black-cloaked man. Lord Voldemort. As he grew more substantial, Harry's body began to fade, turning almost translucent. Voldemort cradled the unconscious boy's frame in one arm and held his wand in the other. He gave Ron and the other boys such a chilling smile with that hideous, reptilian face of his that Ron involuntarily shivered now just remembering it. There was pounding at the door to their room, but Voldemort had already cast a magical seal on it so that no one could force the lock. No one could come in. No one could help them. It had been just Voldemort, Harry, and four very frightened boys in their pajamas. 

            When Voldemort, still wearing that terrifying, psychotically-gleeful smile, had reached for Harry's face, Ron had screamed out for him to stop, mainly to distract him from hurting Harry. But then Voldemort looked at _him, _and with that smile and those glowing eyes, he stepped towards him. He came closer and closer, ever so slowly, deliberately. His smoldering eyes glowed a discordant red against the green light that had begun illuminating his wand as he walked. He was going to cast the spell, Ron knew it; he was going to cast _Avada Kedavra_ and kill him right there and then. Ron backed into the wall. He wanted to cry, to scream, to run away, but he couldn't. He was trapped, he didn't have his wand, and there was not a thing that he or anyone else could do to stop the thing that was leaning down toward him now, to stop those ghastly eyes from looking at him, to stop the death that was coming. He just stood there, frozen in terror and Voldemort had—

            "Harry?" Ron called a bit shrilly, snapping his eyes open and sitting up hurriedly in bed. He realized he was breathing hard, and his hand was a bit shaky when he reached up to brush off a bit of moisture on his brow. They were just memories now, memories nearly a year old. But he had to stop there; he couldn't take them yet, not all of them. 

Ron swung his legs over the edge of the bed and peeped out from between the curtains. Harry was probably sound asleep, but Ron had an overwhelming need to see him, safe and sound, to reassure himself that everything was all right. He tiptoed the few feet of bare, stone floor between their beds and gingerly parted the curtains around Harry's bed. 

            "Harry?" he whispered again, in case Harry was awake and wondering who was peeping in on him in the middle of the night. "Are you awake, Ha—" He stopped in mid-sentence and stared. The bed was empty. Harry was gone. 

*****

            "Master, I have a bad feeling about this," Wormtail snuffled, jogging a bit to keep up with his master's considerably longer strides. Hours of strenuous walking and a bit too much sunlight had finally prompted him, perhaps against his better judgment, to speak his mind. "We shouldn't trust him! Why would someone like _him _be helping us?"

            "Stop blubbering, Wormtail," Voldemort muttered distractedly, ignoring the sand he was kicking up as he stomped toward a strand of palm trees. "I know what that Rociel wants… It's just a matter of getting what _I _want before we've lost our usefulness to him."

            "What he wants…?" Wormtail began as Voldemort brushed past him to examine a stone tablet stuck into the sand just in front of the trees. He stooped and brushed off the face of the tablet, comparing the odd markings scratched onto it with the parchment Rociel had given him. Seeming satisfied, he straightened and extended a hand over the top of the tablet. Wormtail fell silent and held his breath, now familiar with the ritual; Voldemort had cast this same spell over four other tablets stuck in the ground around this stretch of beach they had been scouring the entire morning. After the Dark Lord had finished the long incantation, the tablet resonated against his hand with a pale green light. 

            "There now," Voldemort said, examining his handiwork, "it should all be ready. We have only to wait for the trap to be sprung." 

            Wormtail looked pleased. "Does that mean we can get some lunch now?" His master gave him a withering look that made the snuffling minion babble on hurriedly. "My lord, you must keep up your strength! If you do no eat you will not have the power to finish the trap!" He cowered back, as though expecting a blow.

            Voldemort simply snorted. "Worried about _me,_ are we,Wormtail? Oh, how very touched I am," he said sarcastically. "Fine, hurry up and go feed yourself then, if you can do nothing but think of your stomach!" 

            Thankful for the opportunity to escape one of his master's foul moods, Wormtail hurried off toward the group of buildings in the distance. 

            "Cowardly, useless creature," Voldemort muttered. "Last in my ranks, always! How humiliating a fate it is now that I have no choice but to rely on that fool." The Dark Lord paused, and some of his usual, proud rigidity went out of his posture. The venom drained from his voice. "But the rest of you abandoned me, didn't you? Lucius, Severus, Macnair…" He sank slowly, a bit painfully, into the shade of a nearby palm as a slow, cruel smile began twisting his face. "Oh, but you will regret it now," he whispered, "the whole world will regret it… and you most of all, Harry Potter!" 

******

            "Come on, you stupid thing!" Draco hissed, banging the flat of his palm against the uncooperative Forgeralicious Falsificator. He was hunched over the cheerfully humming magical contraption in an alcove in the wall outside Hogwarts Castle's main gate. A seal on basic dark devices inside the castle was what had brought Draco out into the chilly autumn pre-dawn in his final, desperate attempt to avoid being the laughingstock of the sixth years—if he could but get this Falsificator to work properly, he could forge a letter that would satisfy his teachers that his father had changed his mind and would allow his son to go on the trip again.

            "That's right," Draco growled, shaking the machine violently. "I won't let that Potter win! I'll go to France with everyone else, even if Father comes to drag me home and grounds me until graduation. I don't care, I won't be left behind if that stupid Potter is going!" He ripped out the last of the garbled parchment that was jammed inside the machine from the last failed attempt. 

The Falsificator was a second-hand item (which much offended Draco's Malfoy blood) that he had spotted at a Wizarding Swap Meet and hadn't been able to pass up. His father was a terrible prig about letting him handle dark objects, so he quickly bought the machine before Lucius or the dotty old witch manning the stand realized that it was a powerful dark item. 

            "Stupid second-hand junk," Draco grumbled, "no wonder no one wanted to buy you. Now _work!_" He pounded the Start button with his fist. The machine whirred to life, the many colorful knobs and whatnots spinning productively. Draco began to feel hopeful. "Come on, come _on!" _After a few minutes of whirring and spinning, the Falsificator issued a happy _ping_, and spit out a sheet of parchment covered in neat, perfect Mesopotamian pictographs. 

            "Aaarrrrggghhhh!!!"     

            Just as he was about to throw the machine into the moat in a fit of rage, he heard the front gate of the castle creak slowly open. Draco nearly leapt out of his skin, but quickly gathered his wits and pressed himself into the shadows against the stony castle walls. If he was caught, he knew his chances of re-enlisting himself on the class trip were less than nil. _Oh, just what I need now, _he thought irritably. _Just let this nosy git get lost now! _

            However, as Draco stayed stock still in the shadows and watched attentively, it appeared that no one was coming. Draco almost wondered if he'd left the front door ajar enough that a slight breeze had pushed it open again. However, he froze when he heard very distinct footsteps on the crackly gravel below the steps. It sounded as though someone were running down the gravel path and down the sloping lawns of Hogwarts—but there was no one there! But there were definitely footsteps, making steady progress away from the castle. _Invisibility! _Draco realized. Somehow, someone had a means to make himself invisible, and was wandering Hogwarts at night! 

Draco stared long and hard, trying to follow the progress of the invisible walker by watching the grass that crumpled miraculously in footstep-sized clumps, and determined that it was headed towards the Forbidden Forest. Or actually, to something near the Forbidden Forest—the gamekeeper's hut!

            Draco, who had an overpowering malicious streak that generally subdued any other feeling or thought in the pursuit of getting someone else in trouble, straightened and quickly followed the invisible intruder. If a student at Hogwarts had contraband that caused invisibility, they were sure to be expelled. _Or, _Draco thought, _I could always blackmail whoever it is. _Many pleasing ideas came into his head as he hurried across the dewy grass, Falsificator and class trip forgotten for a time. 

            As he watched, sure enough, the door of the hut swung open, bringing the gamekeeper's big, hairy, smiling face into view. Just as the door was swinging shut, a second person appeared, standing in the doorway. A boy in blue pajamas. A dark-haired boy in blue pajamas. A boy that Draco would recognize anywhere, from any angle because he'd spent the better part of the last five years glaring at him—Harry Potter!

            "Oooh, Potter," Draco grinned maliciously, "I've got you now!" 

*****

            "Harry? Are yeh alone?" Hagrid quickly moved aside to let his midnight visitor in and quickly closed the door on the night. Harry slipped his Invisibility Cloak off and blinked. The blazing fire in the hut's fireplace lit up the little cabin and engulfed him with warmth and cheeriness, all the cool dampness and autumn melancholy of the night left at the doorstep. 

            "Well then," the half-giant rumbled pleasantly, pouring hot water from his perpetually boiling tea kettle into a tea pot, "what brings ya out ta this necka the woods so late, Harry? It's been awhile, though, I'd say."

            "You look well, Hagrid," Harry said, perching in his usual chair by Hagrid's fire. 

            "Well as ken be expected," Hagrid said, pouring cups of tea for himself and his guest. He set the tea down on his beat up little coffee table and sat opposite Harry. His humongous boarhound, Fang, came to curl up at his feet. After taking a little slurp of his tea, he looked up and peered closely at Harry.

            "Hmm… but you don't look quite as well as ya should be," the gamekeeper noted. "Quidditch practice not getting' yeh down, 's it?"

            Harry looked down quickly and put on a big grin as he fingered the cup of tea in his hand. "Tea at midnight, Hagrid?"

            "Harry." Harry was surprised with the serious tone in his friend's normally jovial voice. "What'sa matter? It isn't… them _dreams _agin, is it?" 

            Harry looked surprised, and for the briefest of moments, slightly alarmed. "Oh, no, no, nothing like that!" he exclaimed with more vigor than he'd intended. Sheepishly, he set his teacup down and looked up earnestly into the kind face of his oldest friend. "It's just… oh, I dunno, it's so childish but…" he sighed. "I really wish I could go to France tomorrow."

            Hagrid blinked. Then his usual smile burst over his face. With a friendly slap on Harry's back that nearly sent the boy crashing off his chair, the gamekeeper let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, Harry," he gasped in between merry chuckles, "so _that's _what's gotcha mopin' about, eh?" He let out a huge sigh and grinned toothily. "An' here, I'd been thinkin' you were quittin' Quidditch or summat like that!"

            Unable to resist the giant's heartfelt laughter, Harry had begun to grin too. "After the way we flattened Slytherin last month? Not a chance!"

            After another good laugh, Harry felt much better and sipped his tea more eagerly. However, Hagrid remained looking thoughtful.

            "Yeh know, Harry," he began slowly, "you ken always come 'ere and talk ta me, for whatever. I miss seein' you and Ron and Hermione here all the time on some crazy adventure, like when you were all younger."

            Harry sobered a bit too. His gaze became a bit distant and strayed to the undulating flames in the fireplace. "Times were different back then," he began, his voice suddenly flat. "_We _were different. Just children… We grew up playing in a time that was dark, and doing dangerous things was just a part of life for us." He grinned ruefully. "I guess… now that we've gotten through _real _danger, breaking school rules and things doesn't seem like such a thrill anymore."

            "Well, that's true 'nough," said Hagrid. "Afta all, the Boy Who Lived—through _five _encounters with the Dark Lord, I might add—is probably about reddy ta settle down an' grow up now, eh? So, now that yer outta the Dark Arts-fightin' business, got any ideas 'bout whatcha wanna do after Hogwarts?"

            Harry frowned. The nagging feeling was returning, the one that flitted about his mind every time Voldemort was mentioned. He wondered why even now he couldn't stop being afraid of the threat the Dark Lord posed. After all, he was gone wasn't he? Gone for good? 

            _Then why can't I stop thinking about him? _Harry wondered, shuddering a bit. _He can't come back, he can _never _come back… so why am I still afraid of him? _

*****

            "Ah, smell that fresh, salty air; feel the gentle nip of the breeze; listen to the crashing of waves on the white sand—"

            "HOW much FREAKIN' farther do we have to WALK?!"

            Raphael glanced over his shoulder, annoyed. He was probably glaring, but Michael couldn't tell because he was wearing a very dark pair of sunglasses. _Probably some really expensive, designer thingy, _he thought. He shifted the surfboard, soda cooler, picnic basket, beach ball, and boom box he was carrying to a more comfortable position. 

            "This is really HEAVY!" Michael whined. "WHY can't we just stop HERE?" he demanded, gesticulating as best he could with his head. "I see PLENTY of ocean and beach here—so WHY are we lookin' for some PARTICULAR spot?!"

            "Because we can't just mingle with the humans around here," Raphael sniffed. "And anyway, I've reserved a lovely private lagoon area—and we'll have our own, special waitresses to wait just on us there." He gave an approving glance at the numerous bikini-clad resort waitresses simpering along the beach with trays of alcoholic refreshments for their beach-bound guests. 

            "Well why's this place so freakin' FAR?"

            "Hmm." Raphael dangled the map he was holding a few feet in front of him, as though it was too uncouth to examine more closely. "Well, this map isn't very helpful." 

            "Gimme that!" Michael lunged for the map, only to topple the precariously balanced pile in his hands. With a cry, he and his supplies went tumbling onto the sand. 

            "Aww, poor Mika-chan," Raphael cooed sardonically. Grumbling, Michael took the hand offered to him and was dragged up to his feet as he rubbed his bumped head. Raphael shook his head with a sigh and caught a flash of long, silky hair out of the corner of his eye. He removed his sunglasses. 

Eyeing the back of a tall, slender waitress carrying a tray of drinks nearby, he flashed a wolfish grin and said, "You know Mika-chan, this is getting us nowhere. I think I'll just go ask for some directions…" With a flash, he was off after the unlucky waitress.

            Michael wasn't fooled. "Oh BROTHER," he muttered as he began recollecting his dropped possessions. "Here he goes AGAIN…"

            "Miss! Oh, Miss, could I ask you a question?" Raphael called out, smoothing his blonde tresses as he hurried after the long-strided woman. However, she continued on as though she hadn't heard a thing. "Miss," Raphael said, finally gaining her side and grasping her arm to stop her. "Would you be so kind—huh?"

            "Did you want something, _sir?" _a somewhat annoyed and definitely _not_-feminine voice asked as the "waitress" turned around to reveal a young male waiter from the resort. 

            "Oh, ah, um." For once, Raphael, Heaven's smoothest talker, was quite speechless. "I thought—"

            "It's the hair," the waiter said with a slight sigh and a shrug. "Don't worry about it, I'm used to it by now."

            This was just enough time for Raphael to recover. "I beg your pardon," he said, coughing delicately and eyeing the waiter's name badge, hanging from a colorful _lei _around his neck. "Erm, _Sirius, _is it? I was wondering if you could direct me to the private lagoon?"

            Sirius looked slightly puzzled, but took the map proffered him by Raphael. "I didn't think we were renting this lagoon out anymore…"

            "Oh, but we requested it especially," Raphael insisted. 

            "Well," Sirius still looked a bit doubtful. "In that case, please follow me…"

            "Hey, it's a DUDE!" 

            Sirius nearly spilled his tray of drinks as a rather fierce-looking face topped with wild, spiky red hair appeared in his face. 

            "Mika-chan, that is so rude," Raphael admonished, but his companion merely brushed passed him to eye the waiter.

            "Long hair… but SEVI had long hair too… I know what it is! Yer so SKINNY, that's the PROBLEM," Michael said, poking Sirius' thin waist. Looking at him, Raphael had to agree; although Sirius looked healthy enough, he seemed like a man who had been, and was meant to be, much more built. 

            "I've, err, had some eating problems in the past," Sirius muttered, looking like his patience was wearing a bit thin. 

            "Ah, anorexia," Dr. Raphael said knowledgeably. 

            "No, _starvation_," Sirius answered cuttingly. He turned quickly on his heel and started stalking off across the beach. "Now, if you will please follow me…" 

            The two archangels exchanged a shrug and hurried after their guide. He walked very quickly on his long, agile legs, as though he was someone used to a lot of strenuous walking. By the time the archangels had reached a string of palm trees, they had lost sight of him. 

            "C'mon, Mika-chan, we'd better keep up," Raphael called to his companion, who still shouldered his rather heavy load. 

            "You can HELP me with some of this!" Michael called.

            As they rounded a bend of swaying palms, they spotted Sirius again. His tray of drinks was sitting on the ground and he seemed to be fussing over something in the trees. As the archangels approached, they heard him muttering, "…hide for awhile. I'll come get you after work."

            "Is something the matter?" Raphael asked as they approached.

            With a last hard shove at the something in the trees, Sirius turned hurriedly to face them with a rather sheepish smile on his face.

            "Oh, it's nothing," he said quickly, retrieving his tray. "Please follow me, it's not much further."

            Michael glanced into the bushes where Sirius had been standing as they walked past. There was nothing there, but under the eyes of the expert hunter, the set of large, strange tracks in the sand was not missed.  _Odd, _Michael thought, _some of the prints look like they were made by some huge predatory bird… but are those lion tracks, too? Weird… _

            He pondered over the tracks as they walked, a growing feeling of unease filling him. _C'mon, why's this bothering you so much? _he chided himself. But whatever he thought, he couldn't shake the sinking, rather dangerous feeling that seemed to hang in the air. He glanced up at Sirius, who had been reengaged in conversation by Raphael. The man couldn't be some kind of spy from Hell could he? _But that doesn't make sense, _Michael thought. _I don't feel any demon energy around here… but there's definitely something weird. _

While Michael had been busy puzzling over the tracks and their guide, they had reached the lovely, enclosed lagoon. The patio sported a round table of wrought iron painted white, sheltered by a large, colorful umbrella, along with four comfortable-looking lounge chairs by a pool area that flowed in with the natural lagoon. There was also a small, palm hut that housed what appeared to be a mini-bar and showers. A small waterfall spilled from the rocky west wall that hedged the private little lagoon in. 

            "Very nice," Raphael said appreciatively. He strode over to the nearest lounge chair and sprawled himself in it. Turning to Sirius, he said, "So now, could you please get all our waitresses in here?"

            "Well, I didn't know that—" Sirius began, when Raphael, catching sight of how tense the other angel was, called out, "Mika-chan, is something wrong?"

But even as the words left his mouth, Raphael felt it. Michael dropped everything he was holding and whirled around. "It's a TRAP!!!"

The subtle aura of menace that pervaded the area burst out to fill the lagoon, solidifying into a visible star-shaped seal that enclosed them within its powerful rays. All three men crumbled to the floor as the intensity of the magically sealed atmosphere became heavy and inhibiting on them. 

In the shadows of the palms trees surrounding the lagoon, Lord Voldemort staggered to his knees as the completed spell drained his energy and erected the barrier around his captives. However, he grinned evilly as he caught sight of the bounty successfully caught in his trap. 

A bit further down the path from where he stood, another set of eyes watched the prisoners' plight anxiously. With a soft _swoosh, _the unseen watcher was airborne and flying north as quickly as possible. He knew he would need help. A lot of help. 

-----------

FINALLY, chapter 2 is done. ^^;; Sorry for the looooong wait, everyone—but now that school's out for the summer, I should be getting chapters out more quickly. Yes, MUCH more quickly. Anyhow, a few changes—I've switched around chapter names, so "Meshings" will be chapter three. It's already half-written, so please stick with the story if you like it! ^^ In this chapter we learned a bit about what happened between Book 4 of Harry Potter and Harry's sixth year—but we still don't know exactly what happened to Voldie to leave him without any followers, and basically pretty low on power. And more Raphi, Mika, and Sirius. ^__^ And Setsuna! (poor thing wasn't in this chapter… oops…) Thank you to the kind 18 people who read and reviewed chapter one— please everybody review this chapter as well! ^__^


	3. Meshings

Chapter III: Meshings

"Wh-what's going on?" Sirius choked.

Even bowed on the floor, Michael managed to raise his head and glare at him. "WHAT the hell IS this?!" he boomed, reaching to grab the man by the throat. "Who ARE you?!" However, quick as a wink, Sirius whipped out what looked like a wooden conductor's baton and pointed it at Michael.

"_Stupefy!" he shouted. Much to Michael's surprise, he found every muscle in his body completely frozen where it was. He couldn't even move his mouth._

Raphael reacted immediately; from the familiar surge of his _ki, Michael could tell he had cast an attack spell with his Wind magic. However, nothing happened, and Sirius, having struggled to his feet, backed away from them holding his wand out defensively._

"What is going on here?" Sirius demanded, glaring back and forth between the two. "What kind of barrier is this?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Raphael said, his voice very dangerous now. "What do you want with us?"

"Nothing," Sirius cried, shaking his head. "But whatever barrier this is, it's draining my energy. Release it right now!"

"I can't," Raphael said. He seemed to have made a decision. "It seems that someone figured out how to seal our powers."

"Powers?" Sirius looked confused. "You two are wizards too?"

"Wizards?" Now Raphael looked mildly confused. Then his gaze fell on Sirius' wand. "Oh, I see. A magic wand. So you _are a human."_

"What else would I be?" Sirius asked. "Do you mean you're not?"

"Not exactly," Raphael answered. "But in this case, you're _not the one who cast this barrier. Please release my friend from your spell; I swear to you we will not hurt you. Apparently, we haven't the means to do so."_

"Yes, you most certainly do not."

"That voice-!!" Sirius whirled around, his wand poised to attack, just as the same mysterious voice shouted, "_Expelliarmus!"  Sirius' wand flew out of his hand as though plucked away by some invisible force. Sirius and Raphael turned in the direction the wand had flown and found it now in the hand of a tall, dark-robed figure who had apparently emerged from the shadows of the palms surrounding the patio. Raphael stared. It was definitely a man, but disfigured or transfigured in a way that he had never seen before. His skin was deathly pale, and his facial structure had something remarkably snake-like about it. His eyes looked rather like empty sockets, pierced through from within by laser-like red pupils, so intense and bright that they emanated a light of their own. __He looks like some sort of serpent demon, Raphael thought. __But he's human! How could no one know that a human like this existed…? _

"Voldemort!" Sirius spat, a look of utter fury, intermingled with a bit of shock on his face. 

"Well, well," said the creature Voldemort in a deep, resonating voice that had a slightly scratchy undertone to it. "What have I caught in my little net? Is this the infamous Sirius Black, renowned to be the greatest dark wizard of the times, after myself?"

"I'm no dark wizard!" Sirius yelled. "I never have and never will serve you, Voldemort!"

"Ah, and there's that famous temper that I've heard so much about." Voldemort smiled cruelly. "Apparently, your time in Azkaban didn't manage to quench your fire. How extraordinary. A pity it really _wasn't you who joined my Death Eaters like the papers said. I got your little childhood friend, Wormtail, instead." His smirk deepened. "It __was you who gave him that nickname, was it not? So appropriate that he kept it to serve as a code name when he joined my Death Eaters and destroyed his old friends for me, eh? Secret Keeper* for your beloved Potters…what sweet irony that he only got the job because __you gave it to him, hm?"_

Raphael, who had been watching the exchange silently, stole a quick glance at Sirius. It was remarkable to see how the mild face of the resort waiter had transformed with the wild rage that filled it now. His eyes burned intently, and his handsome jaw looked savage in the almost animalistic scowl it was twisted in now. 

"_I'll kill you!" Sirius screamed, suddenly lunging at the smirking Voldemort. Just as Raphael had expected, quick as a wink Sirius was hit by some sort of spell that sent him crashing to the ground, arms and legs bound by glowing chords. Raphael didn't doubt they were burning him. Having observed and gauged this unknown opponent, Raphael now stepped forward._

"I assume that _we are the ones you meant to catch in this seal?" he said, approaching Voldemort a few steps and gesturing towards the still-frozen Michael and himself. "So you must realize who we are."_

"Yes, of course," Voldemort said, turning his mirthful gaze away from the struggling wizard on the ground to face the archangels. "You are the Elemental archangels Raphael and Michael, are you not?"

Raphael nodded. As he had guessed, this man was not only very powerful, but had a very good idea of what he was doing. But _how did he know all this? Raphael intended to find out in good time. For now, he waved a hand towards Michael. "Release my friend, please. You of course know that you have the advantage over us in here."_

Voldemort seemed pleased. With a wave of Sirius' wand, Michael came crashing down on his face. He immediately leapt to his feet, his temper reaching its climactic heights. "YOU-" he began, but Raphael, expecting this, quickly but subtly crushed Michael's foot under his heel and stepped in front of him. 

"Thank you," he said smoothly to Voldemort. "Now may I ask what it is you want from us?"

Voldemort looked slightly amused. "Well, you certainly will know that, in time," he said, congenially turning Sirius' wand over in his hands. "After all, you _will be contributing so generously to my organization."_

Raphael arched an elegant eyebrow. "Your organization? _What, precisely, will we be contributing to it?"_

Voldemort's smile grew wider, and he turned to look at Sirius. With a wave of the wand, Sirius was free again. He staggered back up to his feet, rubbing his red wrists gingerly and glaring daggers at the Dark Lord. 

"Well," Voldemort drawled, stepping back, "I'm sure _he can tell you what sort of establishment I'm after." _

Raphael groaned inwardly. It looked like this was as much as Voldemort was going to say. Well, he would just have to bide his time.__

The barrier suddenly lurched, making the three jump. The barrier shrunk until it was only about fifteen feet in diameter, hedging the three in. Looking satisfied, Voldemort turned another mean smile at Sirius. "And Mr. Black," he called. "I must thank you for making my work so much simpler. Once I've got what I need to rebuild my 'establishment,' you're just the perfect bait to summon my first… ah, _guest. Don't you think your godson will accept my invitation when he hears that you are here?"_

Sirius' eyes widened. "No! That's ridiculous!" he said hurriedly. "Harry would never come walking into a trap! There's no point in trying!" But his desperate words didn't fool Voldemort as he strode away, or even his fellow prisoners as they sat down to wait. Finally Sirius gave up as well and slumped down, kicking himself mentally for getting himself caught.

"So," Raphael said at last. "Tell me about this Voldemort…" 

*****

            "Are you frightened?"

            "No!" Setsuna cried, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut to try and block out the images that the voice evoked. 

            "Then why are you running away?"

            "There's no use," Setsuna whispered, "no use in thinking about it. I can't change what happened."

            "Is that why you don't want to see me?"

            "Yes."

            "You hate me?"

            "No!"

            "But I frighten you?"

            "Yes," Setsuna said, then shook his head. "I mean no! I mean…"

            "You don't want to remember me because the memories of those times hurt you, don't they?"

            Tears welling in his eyes, Setsuna nodded.

            "You want to forget everything?"

            "I don't want to forget you, _senpai."_

            "Then stop running away…"

            "_Senpai? Senpai, wait!"_

            "Setsuna? Setsuna, wake up!"

            "_Sen- wha?" Setsuna blinked as Sara tore open the curtains in his room to let in the clear morning light._

            "Sara?" Setsuna mumbled sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

            Sara was bustling around the room, straightening up stray books and homework papers and tossing dirty clothes in the laundry basket. 

            "I'm sorry to come barging in so early, Setsuna," she said, giving him a quick smile. She seemed rather harried. "But we've got a visitor."

            Setsuna stretched and began climbing out of bed. "This early? Who?"

            Having tidied the room somewhat, Sara then set to work smoothing down her boyfriend's tousled hair and pajamas. "There now," she said, standing back and giving him a scrutinizing glance. "Come on." 

            "Wait, Sara-" Setsuna protested as he was dragged by the hand out into the living room. "Who-"

            "Good morning, Messiah." A strikingly discordant sight met his eyes. Standing in his small, cozy living room, apparently examining the photographs on the fireplace mantle, was a tall figure dressed in long, dark robes. Although thick, silky, chocolate-brown hair tumbled down the figure's back to his waist, the guest was quite obviously a man, and a man of great stature and broad shoulders. He turned to greet his host, a gentle smile lighting on his smooth, brown face. 

            "Uriel!" Setsuna exclaimed, coming forward eagerly to greet his old friend. "It's been a long time!"

            "So it has been, Messiah," the archangel smiled. 

            "Would you like some tea, Uriel?" Sara asked, bustling in from the kitchen with a tray laden with small tea biscuits and a tea set that Setsuna hadn't even known that he owned. 

            "That's very kind of you, Jibriel, but no thank you," Uriel said. His eyes became grave. "I'm afraid that my visit here today is hardly on pleasant matters."

            Setsuna felt his heart sink. He didn't want to hear what was coming because he knew what Uriel would say. Since yesterday, he'd been trying to restrengthen the delicate dam he'd built to keep everything that had to do with the Third War of Heaven and Hell and his past life as an angel, but Uriel's arrival was weakening it again. He knew it would be shattered before the morning was over. The dream he'd had this morning had said as much. 

            "What is it, Uriel?" Sara was asking.

            The dark angel sighed. "There's trouble brewing... but it's happening here on earth."

            "On earth?" Setsuna asked. "Is it so bad that you guys have to get involved?"

            "Actually, it involves us directly," Uriel said, unconsciously sipping the cup of tea Sara had maneuvered deftly into his hands. He turned suddenly, setting the teacup down, and looked squarely at Setsuna. "Messiah, we need your help. Michael and Raphael have been captured and we need you to free them for us."

            Setsuna gaped. "What?"

            "Raphi-kun and Mika-chan have been captured?" Sara cried. "Oh no! But how?"

            "Yeah, do you know _who captured them?" Setsuna asked._

            Uriel nodded. "Apparently, it was a human."

            "A human?!" both Sara and Setsuna exclaimed.

            "Yes, although he is no ordinary human. He is one of the Gifted, a human who possesses enough spiritual power that he can channel it to use magic."

            "Magic?" Sara echoed.

            "You mean… like a magician or something?" Setsuna asked a bit skeptically. 

            "Their magic is not to be taken lightly," Uriel said, taking another sip of tea. "Especially not this man's. Remember that he had enough power to trap two archangels. It is not easy for humans to create an Elemental barrier strong enough to seal elements away from their masters."

            "Elemental barrier… you mean like the one you had Katou make to force Raphael to resurrect me?"** 

            Uriel nodded. "Come to think of it, Yue was Gifted as well."

            "Katou?!" Setsuna squawked.

            "Yes. Do you think he could have survived all those battles against angels and devils if he had been an ordinary human?"

            "Makes sense, but…" Setsuna quickly shook his head to clear a slight mist in his eyes. "Anyway, so this human who's got Michael and Raphael--what's his deal?"

            "That we do not know. His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. However, he seems to be well-known amongst the Gifted of the western world as Lord Voldemort."

            "Lord Voldemort?" Setsuna said. "Lord? Is he some kind of European royalty?"

            "Something more like a dictator. He's been trying to usurp rule of the European Gifted for the last fifty years. About twenty years ago, he was suppressed for a time, but he has been freed and has begun this ploy."

            "But how does_ he __know about angels?" Sara interrupted. "Even the two of us, who were angels in our past lives, had no idea until Rociel appeared."_

            "And history ever repeats itself," Uriel said with a sigh. Setsuna stared.

            "You… you didn't just say what I _think you said, did you?" he asked, his body tensing.  _

            Uriel turned his eyes away. "I'm afraid so, Messiah. It seems that Rociel is behind this."

            Setsuna stared. He'd suspected it since he'd felt the strange presence near him yesterdy. But he'd managed to convince himself he was wrong, that Rociel was gone for good. And now…

"That's impossible!" Setsuna cried angrily, though he wasn't sure who he was angry at. "Rociel's dead! Gone forever! Alexial… she made sure of it…"

            "Did she?" Uriel asked mildly. "Alexial calmed her brother and made him let go of his already-dead body… but being Immortal means that he can never be gone forever."

            "No!" Sara gasped. 

            "But it is true. And for some reason or other, Rociel has decided to return to the physical world."

            Setsuna shook his head. Rociel had returned! It really did seem like the nightmare was starting again. He couldn't believe it; after he thought he'd be able to live the simple life of a normal person again.  He glanced up at the archangel. "But why? He… do you think Rociel's gone crazy again?"

            "That is the most likely theory," Uriel answered. "In any case, he apparently still wishes malice upon Heaven, or plans to reclaim rule over it. Before whatever plans Rociel has for Michael and Raphael can be realized, you must go and free them, Messiah."

            "But why can't you guys handle it?" Setsuna demanded. "Raziel rules Heaven now, why not send the army out to get them back?"

            Uriel sighed. "Messiah, I would not ask this of you unless I had no other choice. The problem is we _must keep Rociel's return a secret. In Heaven, Rociel is still regarded by the people as a wise and fair ruler and they miss him as he was long ago. Raziel wants the people to take more responsibility for their own rule now, but after eons of living under dictatorial rule, some angels are afraid to live without that security. If they were to hear that Rociel had returned, he could reclaim power with the people's support before they realize that he has lost his mind."_

            "Then keep it a secret," Setsuna interrupted. "Why not just send a small squad to take care of him and swear them to secrecy?"

            Uriel gave him a look. "Messiah, _you of all people should realize how powerful the Inorganic Angel is. Unless we send the whole angel army out, only an archangel could contend with him, and of them, all are dead or missing except you, Jibriel, and myself. I cannot risk the two remaining Elements being cut off from Heaven, now that Michael and Raphael are captured. Please Messiah, you are the only one left. You must rescue them!"_

            Sara glanced quickly at Setsuna. He had his eyes closed, and a slight frown creased his forehead. She could tell that he was on the verge of agreeing; he was struggling between the desperate need in front of him and his own feelings about having to see Rociel again. 

            "Uriel!" she cried. "Let me go with him! If he has to face Rociel again, please let me stand beside him."

            Setsuna shook his head, coming out of his reverie. "Sara, I can't let you do that for-"

            "Don't, Setsuna!" she interrupted, shaking her head fervently. "I can take care of myself if it comes down to it." She turned him to face her and tenderly caressed his cheek. "Remember, a girl has her own white wings to protect the one she loves."

            Setsuna smiled fondly at her. "I know," he said, taking her hand in his. "You protected me once, I remember. But Uriel's right, I've got to go this one alone because the world won't be able to survive without its Elements. We can't risk you getting hurt or captured. You've got to stay safe in Heaven until I can free Raphael and Michael." 

            "But you can't go alone!" Sara cried.

            "He won't," Uriel said calmly. "I'll send some trusted help to you as soon as I can. But for now, please prepare yourself. Time is of the essence. Rociel must not be allowed to accomplish his goals." He extended a hand to Sara. "Jibriel?"

            She nodded and walked toward the tall angel, even though she still looked fearful. As she took Uriel's hand, she turned back to look at her beloved. "Setsuna, be careful. But remember, you're strong. Stronger than Rociel. Don't be afraid of him or anyone else." He nodded and she leaned forward to kiss him. "I love you."

            He smiled at her as she and Uriel launched into the tower of light that opened onto Heaven's dimension on his powerful wings. "I love you," he whispered as they disappeared and the last brown feathers of the Earth Angel's wings fluttered to the ground. Now he was alone. And now he had to set out to stop Rociel again. His mouth set in a determined line. _I knew I couldn't run away forever. Whether I like it or not, this is who I am, and I'm going to stop running from it right now! _

*****

            The moon had reached the zenith of the night sky, illuminating the rolling Scottish countryside. Buckbeak strained his eyes; in the distance he could make out the smattering of silvery liquid that marked the lake surrounding Hogwarts castle, his destination. He'd been flying without rest for hours and the slightest signs of weariness were beginning to show on the proud hippogriff. However, the urgency of his errand spurred him on; he needed to get to friends. He needed help for Sirius.

            The clusters of buildings, now dark in the midnight, that made up Hogsmeade came into view. The slightly paler gray of the long, winding road that led up to Hogwarts School snaked away from the wizarding village and traced a path up the hill. Buckbeak followed it from the sky, swooping down low when he reached the rolling lawns of the school. He turned left and made for the blotchy darkness of the Forbidden Forest and the home of his dearest friend and former caretaker, Hagrid the Hogwarts gamekeeper. 

            The hippogriff glided easily toward the tiny cabin. As he'd expected, cheery, golden light still flooded the windows of his old home--Hagrid usually stayed up very late. Many fond memories of sitting up late by the fire and watching the merry half-giant slurp his ale and chatter happily about school news came back to him. If beaks had the ability to smile, Buckbeak would surely have been doing so at the moment. But as he was nearing the cabin, the sound of angry voices broke his reverie. He opened his wings and allowed an updraft to pull him higher and allow him to circle the scene and survey it first. Living with Sirius had taught him that fugitives needed to be careful. Glancing down, he realized that the door of the cabin was open, and Hagrid and Hagrid's friend Harry were standing in the doorway, facing someone standing outside. There was something unpleasantly familiar about the stranger.

            "We'll just _see how you explain your way out of this one, Potter!" the silvery-haired person was sneering triumphantly. _

            "Now look here, Malfoy," Hagrid began. Buckbeak's eyes narrowed. That lying, little fishbait Draco Malfoy was the one who had tried to get him executed as a dangerous creature two years ago. It was the reason that he'd had to leave Hagrid and go into hiding with Sirius. Buckbeak was terribly tempted to swoop down and claw the boy to shreds, but decided that his mission was too urgent to be side-tracking. He would just wait until Malfoy left so that he could talk to Hagrid in peace. 

            "Don't even _try it," Malfoy was saying. "If you try to get __me in trouble for doing my part to rid Hogwarts of trouble-makers, my Father will __see to it that you get in trouble for trying to protect __certain students." He gave Harry a nasty look. "Just because you're the __famous Harry Potter doesn't mean you can break the rules if you feel like it, you know."_

            "Malfoy, you scum!" Harry cried. "Don't get Hagrid involved in this--"

            "Well it's too late now, isn't it?" Malfoy grinned, turning back towards the castle.

            "Malfoy, wait!" Harry cried. "You've gotta--" But he was cut off in mid-sentence by a shrill alarm that started sounding from inside Hagrid's hut. 

            "What the heck is that?" Malfoy demanded, whirling back around.

            "An alarm--a security breach!" Hagrid cried, then froze. Because at that moment, the intruder had lost his patience and come soaring down to stand right in front of him.

            "Buckbeak!" Harry cried happily.

            "_B-Beaky!" Hagrid tearfully embraced the fierce hippogryff. "It's ben so lo-ong!"_

            "It's that-that _thing that scratched me!__" Malfoy exclaimed, eyes wide with fear. _

            "That's right, Malfoy," Harry said sweetly. "Maybe this time he wants to do a little _more damage, huh?"_

            But before Malfoy could retort, Buckbeak drew away from Hagrid and began squwaking frantically. 

            "Trouble?" Hagrid cried. "You flew here for help?"

            "What?" Harry cried, running towards Buckbeak. "Is Sirius in trouble?"

            The hippogryff gave an affirmative nod of its head. 

            "No!" Harry cried. "Where is he? We have to go to him!"

            "Now calm down, Harry," Hagrid said. "We'll have to get an air carriage to follow--"

            But Buckbeak began squwaking again, flapping his wings irritably for emphasis.

            "Urgent?" Hagrid said. _"Danger?"_

            "Sirius!" Harry cried frantically. He placed himself squarely in front of Buckbeak and bowed in proper hippogryff greeting. Buckbeak returned the gesture with a quick inclination of its head, and Harry ran forward quickly to jump on his back.

            "Now wait, Harry!" Hagrid cried. "What 'r yeh plannin'? You can' go by yerself!"

            "There's no time," Harry said urgently. "That security alarm also triggers in the faculty quarters in the castle, doesn't it? All the teachers will be here in a minute and if they hear that Sirius Black, the _wanted criminal, is in danger, they won't care if he gets hurt! They'll just call the Ministry, and then Sirius will __really be in trouble!"_

            "But Harry," Hagrid protested weakly, "we don' even know if it's Sirius that's in trouble--"

            "Would Buckbeak leave him unless he were in _serious trouble?" _

            Hagrid sighed. "Yer righ', Harry," he said, "and Bucky's too tired from his flight ta carry some'n as big as me back there. Fine, you ken go. But yeh've _got to contact us as soon as you get there so we ken follow yeh, okay?"_

            Harry nodded. "Okay, Hagrid."

            At that moment, the front doors of Hogwarts Castle were thrown open, and several figures came running out. Harry could make out Filch and Professor Snape at the head of the pack.

            "Yeh'd better go _now," Hagrid urged, shooing Harry and Buckbeak away from the cabin's light. "I'll make up some excuse--but don't ferget that you've __got ta contact me as soon as yer there!"_

            "I promise," Harry whispered, turning Buckbeak back towards the forest.

            "Wait a minute!" a voice cried.

            The trio turned back to find Draco Malfoy still standing agape near the cabin. "You--Sirius Black--what?" he mumbled, looking overwhelmed. "You-you can't just _leave, Potter! To rescue a fugitive--?"_

            "Sure I can, Malfoy," Harry said, looking annoyed. "And here I go." He gently urged Buckbeak forward. The hippogryff's great wings spread wide.

            "But--but what about_ me?" Draco demanded. "You can't just leave me here... why, if the teachers found me now..."_

            "You're gonna be in a lot of trouble, Malfoy," Harry said amiably as Buckbeak took a running leap into the air. "See ya!"

            "_Waaaaiiit!" Before he, himself, knew what he was doing, Draco was launching himself into the air after Harry and Buckbeak. He managed to grab onto the hippogryff's tail and felt himself lifted very quickly off the ground. Draco hazarded a glance downward and saw that the ground was already __very far away, and that the giant Hagrid, waving his arms frantically, looked like a toy figurine. He let out a strangled scream. "P-P-Potter!!" he cried, clutching even more tightly to the tail. "Let me down! Let me __down!" _

            "You are unbelievable," Harry said calmly, his eyebrows only slightly raised as he glanced down Buckbeak's backside. He extended a hand. "Here."

            "Hell no, I'm not trusting you, Potter!" Draco screeched. His father disapproved of using foul language and continually told Draco so, but Draco was a bit too panicked to care at the moment. "Just make the stupid monster put me _down!" _

            Buckbeak was a very intelligent animal, and Harry strongly suspected that he could understand human speech. His theory seemed to be right, as the hippogryff immediately began swinging his tail this way and that, apparently trying to shake off its unwelcome stowaway. Draco screamed some more as he clutched on for dear life.

            "You know, I don't think Buckbeak wants to land right now," Harry said amiably. "So you might want to take a more comfortable seat up here... unless, of course, you _like the rear seat?"_

            "Damn you, Potter!" Draco screamed. "I won't take your stupid help. I _told you to put me back on the __ground!" _

            Harry ground his teeth. Malfoy was utterly unbelievable in his snobbery--even at a time like this! It was little wonder that he couldn't stand the pale boy, Harry thought for the hundredth time. But now wasn't the time for this. Harry took a deep breath to calm himself.

            "Malfoy, my godfather's in trouble and I need to go to him _now. You are the __last person I would ever take __anywhere with me, but Buckbeak isn't going to stop until we reach Sirius." He reached his hand out to Draco again. "You're the one who grabbed onto Buckbeak without thinking, so you'd better deal with the consequences. Now, for once in your life, __finish what you started."_

            Malfoy glared at Harry. Every fiber of his body was offended and repelled, but even more than that, he was embarrassed, though he wasn't quite sure why. Grudgingly, he reached out and took Harry's hand and was pulled up and settled onto the hippogryff behind the other boy.

            "And don't even think of pushing me off," Harry warned mildly, glancing over his shoulder. "Buckbeak will probably buck you right off after me."

            Draco glared at him. "Just hurry up and get to where we're going. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can get away from you and your stupid, murderous monster."

            "Believe me, Malfoy, that's exactly what we mean to do."

            Harry turned his eyes forward into the endless starry sky flying past him. Even though he was flying helter-skelter into an unknown peril, somehow, he felt exhilirated and more alive than he had for awhile. 

            _Hang in there, Sirius, he thought, catching a glance of a particular brilliant, blue star in the distance. __I'm on my way._

------  
*When performing the Fidelius Charm to keep someone's location secret and undetectable to everyone, it is necessary to choose another individual to be the Secret Keeper, the only one who knows and can reveal where the hidden persons are. The success of the charm depends on the Secret Keeper's fidelity.   
**See Angel Sanctuary volume 10-11.   
------  
So the heroes are finally on their way. ^^ Next chapter, we'll add one or two more main characters, and the heroes will finally meet. We'll also get another little Rociel insight--why is he doing all this? And Mika, Raphi, and Sirius do some bonding. ^__~ Thank you again to all the wonderful who have read and reviewed this story and encouraged me. Without you, this wouldn't be continuing!


End file.
